Call it what you want.

Grieving Rhapsody

The estranged siblings, once distant, now stood united in the family frame. Mary, a mother like any other, harbored a heart that had become a sanctuary for refugees. Grieving was a shared journey among us, siblings, and for her, it was an arduous path amplified by the aftermath left by her late husband. Each day, I witnessed her unraveling under the weight of stress, dealing with a mess not of her making. The prospect of not waking up to the one she loved the most rendered life seemingly purposeless.

No more enchanting mornings with warm cups of cocoa and cookies; the joyful chaos of children playing in the yard marked a milestone that felt bittersweet. Weeks after the burial, Mary began experiencing mysterious pains, especially in her left leg. The ambiguity of the pain, whether mere discomfort or a harbinger of chronic illness, loomed over her. Nevertheless, she persevered in providing for us, bearing the responsibility of filling the void left by the absence of paternal care. Amidst bewail thoughts of the well-paying job she had left behind in London, Mary decided to embark on a new venture - a bakery and a small tuck shop. Love might have blinded her, but gratitude prevailed as the business sustained us with just the essentials. Our mother's offerings, however modest, were accepted with open hands, shaping us into appreciative individuals. Life trudged on until an unforeseen and depressing event occurred.

One ordinary morning, as our mother toiled in the baking kitchen, she suddenly collapsed. Panic set in as we rushed her to the hospital, where tests were conducted to decipher the cause. The expected wait for results felt like an eternity. The processing of pap smear results added an air of nonchalance, attributing the collapse to the heat of the baking fire. We remained patient, not anticipating the gravity of what loomed ahead. During the week, our older brother Sheldon received a call from USC Arcadia hospital to collect our mother's results. The hospital, seemingly close at 5000 feet, didn't appear daunting to him. After all, we had only our mother left, or so it seemed.

The dreaded news came like a chilling whisper in the night: a positive cancer test. Skin cancer, already in an advanced stage two, had ensnared our unsuspecting mother. As the reality of her diagnosis sunk in, a shadow of fear and uncertainty descended upon us all. Grief, a familiar companion, now intertwined with the sinister presence of cancer, casting a pall over our lives once more. Even at thirteen, I understood the gravity of the situation. Cancer was a merciless beast, lurking in the shadows, ready to consume everything in its path. And now, it had set its sights on our family. Medical attention became our lifeline, a beacon of hope in the darkness. But the road ahead was treacherous, fraught with uncertainty. Would our mother emerge victorious, battered but alive? Or would she succumb, joining our father in the cold embrace of death?

In her absence, Aunt Vivian stepped forward as our caretaker, bearing the weight of her own responsibilities alongside ours. It was a burden that threatened to crush us all, yet she stood resolute, a pillar of strength in our time of need. But amidst the chaos, another storm brewed on the horizon. Our father's family, with their simmering rage and bitter resentments, lurked in the shadows, casting a menacing pall over our already troubled lives. Their hostility threatened to poison everything it touched. Yet, in the face of their malice, I refused to cower. With a cool facade and a steely resolve, I navigated the treacherous waters of familial strife, determined to protect what little remained of our fractured family. And if push came to shove, I was prepared to unleash the full force of my wrath, to become the psychopath they feared and respected in equal measure. For in this twisted dance of survival, there was no room for weakness or hesitation. Only the strong would prevail, and I intended to emerge victorious, whatever the cost...

 Living under the same roof with someone who, despite their efforts to shower you with love, isn't your parent is akin to navigating an unfamiliar terrain. No matter how genuine their intentions, the connection never quite resonates as deeply as the familiarity you're accustomed to. Vivian, thrust into the role of caretaker during Mary's absence, dedicated herself wholeheartedly to maintaining the profitability of the baking confectionery—a task she excelled at, perhaps even surpassing Mary's own prowess.

Yet, the warmth of Vivian's care couldn't replicate the maternal embrace we longed for. Despite the provision and meticulous upkeep, our lives, in Mary's absence, reverted to a semblance of normalcy, marked only by the concerns of typical childhood—focused on attaining good grades and navigating the complexities of adolescence. This chapter in our lives unfolded against the backdrop of Sheldon's graduation year from nursing school, promising a future fraught with the stresses of securing a well-paying job.As we braced ourselves for life's unfolding chapters, there was a bittersweet tension in the air. The specter of our mother battling cancer cast its shadow, intertwining with the persistent echoes of grief. In this precarious dance between anticipation and uncertainty, we could only wait and watch as the narrative of our lives unfolded, each page written with the ink of struggle and resilience.